


don't go sharing your devotion

by horrorcore



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Priest!Copia, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Tags May Change, copia and iii are not related, vague mentions of conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorcore/pseuds/horrorcore
Summary: Copia is lost until he meets a strange man.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Papa Emeritus III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	don't go sharing your devotion

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!!!!!  
> welcome to my first fic in like 2 years!!  
> im very sorry for being rusty at this and it will get better i promise  
> there will be no smut in this fic as i am 15 and i don't want to write it lol i apologize
> 
> this fic is best consumed with a glass of red wine (or in my case, apple snapple) and this version of lay all your love on me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1euGyozmmQ
> 
> (also if tone fungi confirms the copia is sister imperators son theory i will jump out of a window)

Copia watched the smoke curl around in the humid night air as he exhaled; pure relief flowing through his tense body in waves. How long had it been since he had a nice, cool cigarette? Far too long, he supposed. There was no use in discerning the days before, anyway. They just seemed to blur together in a gray, dingy mess. Like the taste of cheap tobacco and gas station coffee. He shuddered. 

At least he had tonight to get away from the church. It was always a blessing to get away from the church. Copia had come to cherish every moment of respite he got from the smell of wood polish and dust. He _should_ be glad they let him live there, really, he knew that. But after spending the good majority of his teenage life being hit with bibles, the rosary hanging from his neck seemed less like a binding to peace and more like chains keeping him bound to a life he had no control over. 

He was an adult now. He’d been an adult for _so long_. When he was in therapy, the thought of being eighteen one day was the only thing that kept him going. The distant but promised freedom that he assumed came with maturity. The monastery would let him go, and he would find a life outside of the world his parents had condemned him to. He’d find career, a passion. Maybe he’d even learn to love singing again. 

That didn’t exactly work out the way he had dreamed, though.

They did let him go, as they had promised. But once he was out, he discovered that he really didn’t have anywhere to go. He had virtually nothing. No money, no friends, only perfect handwriting and a talent for book-keeping. 

He should be grateful that a kind priest found him sleeping on a pew all those years ago. He should be happy they let him live and work there. They were kind people, he knew that. He should be thankful that they even gave him a second glance. He really, really should be okay.

Silly thing, isn’t it? Being okay. Being comfortable and satisfied with your life. It’s always a competition with time. And it’s so much harder when everyone around you seems so blissfully _stable_ , and you haven’t even started rebuilding your life since it stopped at fifteen.

He took another drag.

This time, his breath came out in shudders. No tears fell, of course. He trained himself against crying when he first left home, and it just sort of stuck afterwards. Like a bad habit.. or a nicotine addiction.

He desperately wanted to change his situation, to make something of his existence besides scribbling down church finances and pondering his life in public parks at midnight. He wanted to break free of the cycle that had imprisoned him, and start _living_. But he didn’t know how. He’d never been taught how to simply live, because nobody around him ever intended him to.

Everything felt so overwhelming but so horribly dull at the same time.

A tap at his shoulder caused Copia to break from his train of thought all too suddenly.

“Hello.. eh, may I?” The man standing before him gestured at the box of cigarettes he was grasping. Copia stared at him blankly for a second, dumbstruck, before handing him the box.

The man was… strange, to put it lightly.

He was a defined, skinny figure, with a black suit that hugged his frame and feathery black hair that fell into his eyes; one of which being almost completely white. On a glistening silver chain around his neck dangled a thick pendant that resembled an inverted cross with a defined G through it. The most striking part of him, however, the skull paint that covered his face. It seemed to be designed just to suit his features; to look as if it was always meant to be there. Everything about him complimented itself. It was so different, so _odd_ , and yet it brushed against something in Copia’s psyche that felt far too familiar.. like a cruel case of déjà vu.

His gloved hand brushed up against Copia’s bare one as he handed the pack back, and he noted how frighteningly soft they were. They had to be expensive, far too expensive to belong to anyone who would need to ask for a cigarette.

The man stared at him, questioning, until Copia awkwardly fumbled to hand him the lighter.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the man inhaled like the nicotine was oxygen. Everything he did was seemingly filled with grace; like a living, breathing piece of poetry from one of the books Copia snuck in from the restricted section of the church library. It was so eerie, everything about him. It felt so _horribly_ captivating that it had him unable to look away. 

Somehow, even the smoke became elegant when it curled around him.

“I should introduce myself, no?” he looked over at Copia, “Angelo Emeritus. But most tend to know me as Papa Emeritus the Third.”

“Papa?” Copia stuttered out before he could stop himself. He really couldn’t escape from priests, could he?

Papa chucked at his tone. Something about his sickly sweet laugh sent a shiver down Copia’s spine. “I am.. well, I am a leader,” Papa eyed the rosary hanging from the pocket of the other man’s woolen coat, and his eyes seemed to narrow, “to put it, eh, lightly.. I am the leader of a Satanist church. Yes, we worship the Dark Lord. No, we do not sacrifice children or small animals. Virgins.. They are better alive than dead, yes?” He made himself laugh again at his own off-color joke.

Well, that would explain the pendant. He shuddered. He should run away, fear for his life. He should be disgusted by the man in front of him. Somehow, the only one he was disgusted with was himself.

Something clicked, deep in him, that made him want to listen. It made him want to sympathize, to ask this mysterious man to tell him _everything._ His voice was already so silken, so smooth. Copia wanted to curl up in that voice and never dare to leave. 

“You are staring.”

“I… oh.” A flush covered Copia’s face almost instantly; hot embarrassment creeping up his collar. “I apologize.”

“No need for that,” Papa smirked, “Your name?”

“Copia.” He toyed with the rosary beads in his pocket. “I am.. a priest at the local church.” An inexplicable feeling of shame crawled up his body. He silently begged for the conversation to turn back to Papa.

“A respectable job, yes? I understand,” Papa chuckled, “but I am not very fond of.. Catholics, you see? Too stuffy. Not enough jiggy jiggy.” He smiled, wiggling his fingers at Copia.

Well, there went a bit of the handsome mystery man facade. 

“Ah.. Well,” Copia stammered, “I don’t do much preaching, really. Just finances.” 

“Mmm.. Even worse.” Papa laughed, “I despise paperwork. I tell Sister I need a secretary, and she hands me another stack! She is an evil, evil woman. The Dark Lord Himself fears her.”

“I thought you led the church?” 

“I do, in a way. Sister is my father’s wife,” His demeanor seemed to shift for a moment at the mention of his father. “he is.. retired, shall we say? Unfit for the job. My brothers have served their time as well. We pass down our leadership.. Primo, Secondo, and now I. I have the most control over the church, but Sister manages our band and those who work for us. I sing for the band, I preform rituals, I recruit. Sister handles the.. behind-the-scenes.” He gestured wildly with his hands. “I am fine with this arrangement. The, er.. nitty-gritty is not my style.”

Copia watched him, enamored by every word he spoke. “The band? _You sing_?”

“My father started it in the sixties. ‘To gain more members,’ he claims, but we all know it was for the pretty ladies and their drugs. He.. well, he didn’t expect it to last more than a year or so. We gained fans, though, and Sister made sure he had no control over the business side. He had to pass it down somehow, you see, and here I am. Singing my infernal pslams for thousands.” He sighed, smiling. “That is what brings me here. I had to get away from the ghouls.. They get restless during these tours.”

Copia froze. “Ghouls.. you can’t mean..”

“Ah, yes. Lesser demons contracted by their masters. We have kept good relations with the demon princes since old times. They are very kind to lend us their children, and we take good care of them in return. Our church houses and teaches them for their loyalty and work.” He smirked, “Only the most talented get to play in our band, however. They are exceptional but.. keeping them in a bus only works for so long, you see?”

“I’ve always assumed they wouldn’t work for others..” Copia ran a hand through his hair, “or so I’ve been taught.” 

“You Catholics always have such.. eh, what is the word.. oh! Misconceptions. You always have such misconceptions about our Dark Lord and His children. He is kind and gracious. You do not wrong Him and He will not hurt you. The ghouls are happy to work with us because we provide for them in return. We serve the Dark Lord by fulfilling our lives and He lends us His protection in return. It is all fair.” Papa watched Copia’s face change from bewilderment to curiosity, and grinned at his expression. He looked like a child seeing snow for the first time. He shook his head with a chuckle, “They teach that we are evil, no? That fulfilling your natural human instincts is wrong?It is so sad to see such beautiful people go to waste repenting to a god that doesn’t care.”

“What are you saying?” Copia clutched at the beads. He was so alluring, so tempting. It took all of Copia’s years of religious indoctrination to keep him from believing everything this man said. To walk right into the web of the spider he’d been taught to destroy. 

“What I am saying is..” Papa almost purred, the quick change of tone sending shockwaves down Copia’s spine; a terrible feeling he couldn’t place, but he wanted more of it immediately. “you are wasting your time giving into _bullshit_.”

“Forgive me if I overstep here, but..” Papa leaned forward, placing a hand to Copia’s cheek, and running his gloved thumb across the smattering of freckles. He paused for a second, gently assessing the bags under his eyes. “you look as if you _crave_ something more than this.” He softly unfolded Copia’s hand, placing the lighter inside, and closing it again. 

He dropped his voice to a low, breathy whisper. “Don't you want to _live deliciously_?” He smirked and gave Copia’s hand a gentle _pat-pat_ before stepping back. “I will see you again.. Do not disappoint me.”

And with that, Papa disappeared into the foggy night, leaving a dazed Copia in his wake. 

He really needed to have another cigarette.

-

Copia spent the rest of the night staring up at the wooden ceiling of his loft, attempting to convince himself that Papa was not real; that everything that had just occurred was a dream, or a sick hallucination, and that he’d wake up soon enough.

And when he’d finally lulled himself to sleep, at a quarter till 5, his dreams consisted of a beautiful man with shining black hair and striking eyes reaching out for him. A sleek snake glistened as it curled around him; its body pooled at his feet and wrapped around his neck. His fangs, not unlike the snake’s, dripped with venom; sweet, freeing venom. Like honey, it dripped from his mouth and landed in puddles at his feet. His smile was that of pure temptation, all sharp teeth and forked tongues. He appeared as an animal not hunting for its prey, but rather lying in wait.

_Why resist it when you want to run for me?_

_Why resist it when you can make your life your own?_

**_Why resist it when you can take the jump?_ **

Copia woke with a start, covered in sticky, cool sweat. He buried his head in his hands, sighing as he fell back against the headboard of his bed. 

The night before wasn’t a dream then. 

Copia eventually drug himself out of bed, wandering aimlessly to the small bathroom in his loft. He flipped the faucet on, splashing himself with the freezing water in an attempt to wash the daze from last night away. He sighed. Why, when he was finally beginning to ease into hopelessness, did life decide to throw this at him? He wished he could just let this go; to see whatever happened last night as a chance meeting and nothing more. 

He stared at his face in the dingy mirror, running worn hands against tired flesh. His touch felt nothing like Papa’s lambskin gloves. He winced. The last night he’d ever wanted to feel someone’s touch was a memory he wished he never recalled. It left him with the taste of bile in his mouth; repulsive and disgusting. 

Not unlike how he saw himself, he supposed. 

He let his mind wander back to Papa as he stepped in the shower. Every inch of his appearance seemed calculated, like he spent hours arranging every hair to perfectly frame his face. His voice was strong, but without harshness. The kind of voice that could make you do anything without question. The kind of voice that just simply takes up residence in the back of your brain, the kind that always lures you back to him like a siren.

Why would anyone so effortlessly beautiful want to see _him_ again?

-

Copia reached for the fabric eyepatch on his desk and tied it securely around his cloudy white eye. Ever since he was a child, he’d been instructed to keep the eye covered. He could see from it just fine, but he supposed no one wanted to have to look at it. 

He pulled his coat from the hanger, shrugging it on and reaching into his pockets to empty them from the night before. He felt for the lighter, pulling it out, and with it came a small card. His heart dropped as he read the words printed across the ticket.

**VIP ADMISSION**

**GHOST**

Sure enough, the ticket read for tonight. Copia shoved it into his pocket, pressing his back against the doorframe. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying (and failing) to slow his breathing. Papa must have slipped the ticket in his hand when he returned the lighter, the bastard. 

He ran his hands over his face, sighing. This was too much, too soon. As much as he wanted it, it wasn’t like he could just turn everything he had been slowly building away; even if it was just cigarette money and a dusty loft in a church he hated. 

_Do you enjoy feeling hopeless?_ The voice in his head taunted. It had taken on a.. strangely familiar Italian lilt. _Or are you just too afraid of losing again to take the risk?_

He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about much of anything, really. He just wanted a mind-numbing activity to take his thoughts away from the ticket in his pocket. For the first time since he had started working in the church, he was glad he was doing confessions today.

-

Not many people came in for confessions anymore, he supposed. The only visitors so far were the usual old Catholic couple, although their visit was less to confess and more to talk about their garden. They were kind people, if not a little daft. 

But it was grating at his mind. He couldn’t decide what was worse; sitting in an empty booth for what felt like hours, or staring at his ceiling until sunrise. Both were stuffy, annoying, and they allowed for his mind to run wild with thoughts he couldn’t control. His brain always seemed to wander back to Papa’s form in his dream, although it was hazy now. He could remember most of what he had said, and he attempted to convince himself it was just his insecurities shining through.. nothing more.

The creak of the double doors diverted his attention, and he leaned back against the booth in relief.

The other door of the confessional squeaked open, and a man stepped inside. Through the screen, Copia could barely make out the black and white shapes of paint, and he froze.

“Mm.. I forget how this goes. It has been a while, heh.”

“Papa?” whispered Copia, running his hand through his hair yet again.

“I should be anonymous, no? Too late, I suppose.”

“Papa..” 

“Eh, I will try anyway. Bless me, father, for I-“

“Papa!” Copia squawked. “I am well aware you have sinned, you make it quite clear.. What are you even doing here? _How did you know where I work_?”

Papa laughed, dodging the latter question. “I am here to ask if you received my.. little gift, yes?”

“Of course I received it!” Copia cried.

“Ah! Good, good. You plan to go, yes?” Papa clapped, and Copia could see his smile through the screen. His heart faltered, and he suddenly felt a lot more hesitant than before.

“I.. well..” Copia sighed, “We just met last night! Why are you giving me things and inviting me places? I don't even know _who you are!_ ” Instant regret coursed through him. The man on the other side of the booth looked like a rejected puppy.

“Why would you assume I am planning something? I see you. I speak to you. I am interested in you. I simply want you to come see my band. Nothing more!” Papa sounded insulted at the very thought, his mismatched eye seeming to glow through the confessional screen. Why was it so _easy_ to be convinced by him?

“What will the church think if they find out? I could loose my job and my home!” Copia groaned.

“They will not know a thing, trust me. And even if they did, I have options. Our church.. we would treat you better, caro.”

“First you offer me gifts, then you ask to take me home with you?”

“Only if you wanted-“

“I can’t!” Copia cut him off, “I cannot just.. give everything up and leave with a Satanist I gave a cigarette to last night!”

“Do you want to?” Papa asked, “Tell me, Copia, do you want to leave?”

“I..”

“Do you even allow yourself to _want_?” He almost growled. “Or do you repent for every ‘sick’ thought of freedom you have? I know you want it, even if you do not. I can see it when you look at me. Don’t you dream for it?”

“I don't know. I _don't_ know." Copia grumbled out, pressing himself against the back of the booth in a futile attempt to escape the harsh white gaze that drowned him.

“Good! Come to my concert, and learn what it tastes like to be free. It will change you, I know that.” Papa chuckled and gestured to the dusty booth around him, “Maybe then you might even leave this place, eh?"

“Papa..” sighed Copia.

“I know, I know. I joke. But I am.. serious about the concert. I do want you to know what we are like.”

Copia ran his hands across his face. How did he ever manage to get himself in these situations? 

“Fine. I will go.” Copia groaned.

Papa clapped; his face once again lit up in a grin. “You will love it, I promise. I will send a ghoul for you tonight.. and perhaps a tailor.” He smirked, “I am thinking red. It suits you.”

“Red is not.. usually my color.” Copia pulled at the collar of his dusty brown coat. He hadn’t exactly given it much thought over the years. His vanity was not generally important when it came to church life.

“I disagree. We will see, though.” And with that, Papa pushed open the confessional door. “Ciao, topolino.”

Copia listened to his footsteps as he retreated, throwing his head back against the booth and running both hands through his hair as he let out a strangled sigh. Topolino... a fucking mouse.

_Looks like you have no choice but to jump, now, Copia, r_ ang the sing-song Italian voice.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed the first chapter!!!  
> also theres a bit of a plot twist i have planned for later, so take everything papa says/does in this chapter with a grain of salt. i'm forever frustrated i can't just reveal the plot now lol  
> there's also a reference to a painting in there somewhere  
> i'll write a better description when i'm not sleep deprived
> 
> anyways its 7 am and i'm going to post this before i get embarrassed and delete it. gnight yall
> 
> my tumblr is @infernalpslams. comments are appreciated!


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